Plead The Fifth
by SuPerwaNderer
Summary: A tale recounting how things have gone in the Supernatural Universe so far, from Castiel's point of view. Based on the fansong 'Plead The Fifth'. Kinda sad, no idea how it's gonna go. Have fun, kiddies. Warning: As I said, I'm not sure how far this will go. There may or may not be spoilers up to and including the current season.
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N: This is something I've had sitting in my docs for a while now, and I thought I'd just go ahead and bite the bullet and upload it. I tried to do a different style of writing, and it's based off Plead The Fifth on YouTube, the fansong. If you haven't seen/heard it, go do that. Anyways, yeah, here it is.**_

* * *

Of course he had heard him. Castiel had heard the Righteous Man screaming, pleading for help for thirty years down in Hell, and how could he not? All of the angels heard the cries of agony and screams for release, but Castiel seemed to be the only one who couldn't just ignore them. He heard every shriek as Alistair cut into his flesh, each quiet whimper of pain. _Please. Please stop._ He'd beg. _Oh god, let me out of here. Please I can't take it anymore!_ He'd cry aloud. Every single sound the Righteous Man made from thousands and thousands of miles below his feet cut down to his bone and resonated throughout his body. Castiel would frequently find himself on the highest peak of the Himalayas just to try and escape the sounds of torture that sent shivers down his spine and made him desperate for anything to drown out the sadness and anger.

Then, out of nowhere, they stopped. The cries of pain and torment died away and once again his thoughts were his own. He had sighed to himself, thankful for the quiet, not understanding what the sudden silence meant. Over the next ten years he had heard nothing and he had been so grateful. Then he had been called to meet with Michael, which in and of itself was shocking, but after hearing his new mission, his heart plummeted. He was to retrieve the Righteous Man, to raise him from Perdition. The dots connected and he realized with a sadness he had never felt before, that he had broken. The Righteous Man had broken, gotten off the rack in exchange for torturing souls. Castiel had agreed, as he was supposed to, to save the man who had been screaming in his head for thirty years.

For the first time in far too long Castiel had a purpose, something to quell the itch that had settled under his skin. So, he gathered a small battalion of his brothers and sisters, and he stormed Hell. His brothers and sisters fell one by one by his side, but Castiel knew they were expendable, as was he. All that mattered was the Righteous Man rising back to the Earth. Amidst the fighting and chaos Castiel saw it, through splashes of his brethren's blood and within the eternal flames he saw the brightest, most beautiful soul he had ever laid eyes on, his breath caught in his throat and he knew, without a doubt, _that_ was the Righteous Man. He stormed forward, stabbing and slicing his way through the thick swarm of demons that had descended upon him, until he reached the torture rack. He reached forward to grab the Righteous Man, not expecting to be fought, but the Man sliced forward, searing his Grace with an unholy instrument of torture. Castiel hissed in pain and fought back against the Righteous Man, but they were well matched and Castiel had to think fast. Quickly, he reached forward and grabbed his arm, searing his grace to the soul to keep him secure, and started to lift him upward, the radiant soul continuing to thrash and shout next to him. _No! I can't leave! This is what I deserve! I deserve to be here_! Castiel tried to ignore him, but his heart was breaking for this poor man who felt he had done so wrong he didn't deserve to be saved. When he reached the surface he put the soul, piece by piece, back in its body, marveling at the beauty of the corporeal form the soul was made for. Before he could do much else, he felt something in his middle, much like a hook, and suddenly he was being pulled upwards, back to Heaven and away from the Righteous Man.

* * *

They had told him to leave him alone, his part was done and he could rest, but Castiel had gone behind their backs and snuck off. He found the Righteous Man after he had entered an old gas station, and he spoke gently, asking just for his name, but his voice was too strong, too powerful, for human ears, and after watching the tall man with the deep green eyes and the bowed legs fall to the ground, screaming in pain, Castiel had drifted away on a wind, deciding to leave him alone. But, like the curious cat, he eventually found his way back to once again trying to speak to that broken soul he had cradled in his arms. He whispered softly, no louder than a breeze on a summers' day, but once again he watched the man cry out and double over, holding his bleeding ears as the mirror shattered above him and an elder man took him away from the room. Crestfallen, Castiel returned to heaven, and as he breached the gate, Michael was waiting for him.

 _You have been found out Castiel._ He had said disapprovingly. _We know you've been trying to communicate with Dean Winchester._

Before Castiel could try to deny or affirm it, Michael had given him a new mission; to aid the Winchesters, namely Dean, to make sure they remained alive. Castiel agreed naively and searched over the globe for a vessel, eventually finding a devout man by the name of Jimmy Novak who was willing and worthy to host Castiel's divine essence. Castiel took his body, taking a moment to get used to the feeling of his Grace ebbing and flowing under the constrictive skin, when he heard the summoning spell, and he knew that was his queue. In a moment, he vanished and reappeared outside of a run-down barn where he knew inside stood that luminous soul. Tingling with anticipation, he blew the doors open, immediately feeling the first bird shot enter his chest as he stepped inside. He walked forward, the lights above him blowing out and showering him in sparks, as his raw power swirled and boiled underneath his borrowed skin. His vessel was assaulted with bullet after bullet, but they did not faze him, even when he reached his charge and the knife entered his borrowed heart, he plucked it out and dropped it on the ground. If only he had known how much his life would change as green stared into blue in the old barn, electricity fizzling and crackling around them.

" _I am the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition."_


	2. Chapter 2

_**A/N: Going to try to update weekly. We'll see how that goes.**_

* * *

It had been years since Castiel had first laid physical eyes on Dean Winchester, and they had been through much together. From Lucifer's rising to his defeat, the civil war in heaven and getting Sam his soul back, breaking the wall in his mind just to fix it in exchange for his own sanity, the release of Leviathan and their demise, they had gone to Purgatory together, but come back separately.

* * *

Castiel had had visions, waking nightmares, while wandering the side of the road after being inexplicably pulled out of the land of monsters, of the look of betrayal and loss contorting Dean's beautiful face as he was pushed away and through the portal. Castiel, himself, hadn't understood the feeling of loss that twisted in his gut after that moment, but he had to do it. He had to repent for what he had done to the world, to _his_ world, but before he knew what happened he found himself on the side of a highway on Earth, farther away from Leviathan and closer to the Righteous Man. He tried to reach out with his grace, but he found that he was too weak. He walked through hot days and, more often than not, cool nights. He walked through thunder and dust storms alike, pulled, as though magnetically, to something. Some _one._

 _Hello Dean._

Those vivid green eyes met his in the mirror not for the first, nor the last, time, and Castiel could have sung Hallelujah when Dean spun around to face him as, once again, he could feel the thrum of the vivacious soul he had gripped so long ago trapped under smooth skin and freckles. He should have known that his elation at finally finding the one man he trusted most in the world would be short lived.

He did things that he could not remember, a simple puppet of heaven trying to find a stone with an ancient language on it for a woman he could not recall. The angel tablet, that was his mission. Why? He didn't know. Occasionally he would meet up with the Winchesters, occasionally they would look at him as though he were growing a third head, but they didn't understand why he was doing things that he wouldn't normally do. He didn't understand either. It broke his heart when Dean would look at him as though he were an acquaintance, a stranger, but that didn't matter in the end. He _had_ to find the tablet, and eventually he did.

 _Tell me how you got out of Purgatory. Be honest with me. And this is yours._

Castiel silently begged Dean not to do this, to just hand the tablet over and leave it alone, but the proud and strong Dean Winchester did not. With hands that were his own but not under his control, he attacked viciously. He begged the figment of his memory that slipped away from him like lights dancing in front of his eyes to let him go, he plead to save Dean.

 _I won't hurt Dean._

 _Yes you will, you are._

 _What have you done to me Naomi?_

 _Who's Naomi?_

He felt the crunch of Dean's bones under his own hands as he punched and struck. Each blow to the Righteous Man's face a blow to his own essence, his grace, his _heart._ Blood coated his knuckles and Dean's swelling face as Castiel jumped back and forth between beating Dean and begging the woman in the white room to let him spare this man's life.

 _Cas. Cas, I know you're in there._ When Dean was incapacitated, Castiel felt his arm lift up with the angel blade, raising up to give the killing blow while his mind screamed in agony to stop because this is _Dean_.

 _I know you can hear me, Cas…_ Dean's voice cracked over his name and it caused something to stir in Castiel, allowing him to regain some control of his vessel. He used all the force he had to halt his movements.

 _We're family._

 _We need you._

I _need you._

A crack in Naomi's hold was all Castiel needed and he was able to break forth, just for a moment, but long enough to drop the blade and stop his assault. He picked up the angel tablet and felt power the likes of which he had never even imagined course through him and around him. The connection broke and he was free, suddenly the muddied waters of his mind cleared and his memories were once again his own. Everything he had done flashed before his eyes in a moment. His stomach lurched as he saw the warehouse, thousands of Dean's lying on the cool white floor staring up at him with lifeless green eyes. Last was Naomi, leaning over her clean white desk.

 _You have to choose Castiel, us or them._

In that moment Castiel realized that it was no contest. It would always be them. Him. He would do anything for the Righteous Man.

 _What broke the connection?_

 _I don't know._ Castiel had answered, but he knew. As he looked at the square jaw, the freckle dusted nose, the sandy spiky hair, he knew what broke the connection.

 _You._ He thought solemnly.

 _I will always choose you._


	3. Chapter 3

_Cas, are you there?_

Castiel had watched as the fire rained from the sky, a sinking within his stomach. He had watched as the angels were expelled from heaven. He supposed he had been the first to be sent down, after his usefulness had worn thin. He was in a forest, maybe a few feet from the church where the Winchesters were huddled against the Impala, watching as the sky rained down bodies, maybe one hundred. He had no idea. His sense of direction had been lost, his grace, what made him himself. Gone. Instead there was a warmth, the soft ebbing and flowing of emotions as what he supposed was his soul worked it's way into the vessel that was now simply his body.

Freshly human, stomach rumbling and tongue dry against the bottom of his mouth, he had walked down the highway. He had never noticed how warm his coat was, and he had vaguely wondered how long that pebble had been in his shoe. He continued to walk, feet tired and bones weary, because there was only one thing that mattered, one thing pulling him forward.

 _Sammy's hurt. He's hurt, uh – he's hurt pretty bad. And, um... I know you think that I'm pissed at you, okay?_

Castiel didn't hear Dean's prayer. For the first time since the beginning of time itself, Castiel's head was blissfully… Empty. Wide open and confined within itself. He couldn't hear anything besides his own thoughts, his own feelings, and they all reverberated with the same four letters.

Two consonants, two vowels, one syllable.

Dean.

He had to get back to Dean, the Righteous Man who had given everything and had taken little. Castiel had heard him, when his Grace was in it's rightful place and his head was full of secrets and prayers. He had never mentioned to Dean how he would frequently call out the angel's name as he slept. He had never mentioned how he would always fly to Dean's bedside, anticipating a fight, only to find the hunter's face pulled in a grimace, his breathing ragged and sweat beading over his temple. He had never mentioned how he would peer into the nightmare and alleviate it.

 _But I don't care that the angels fell. So whatever you did or didn't do, it doesn't matter, okay?_

Castiel was homeless. He was cold and hungry. He had to do things like brush his teeth and urinate so frequently it was infuriating. He was on the run from the angels and didn't want to bother Dean and Sam, surely they had enough to deal with, as they tended to. He had stayed away, it was better that way, although the loss bit deep into his bones and made his gut wrench.

 _We'll work it out._

April had been nice, and quite pretty. A ray of sunshine during his darkest hour. He had found solace in her arms, warmth in her bed. And if he used the memory of sensation for his own personal fantasies involving green eyes and a cock-sure grin in the months to come, Dean needn't know.

Well, April _had_ been nice.

As the blade had sliced into his skin, thick red blood welling and dripping down his bare chest, he vaguely wondered if this was a cruel joke. Maybe it was a punishment. He had strayed from his path to find the man he -

Pain bit deep and his heart danced frantically to keep him alive, but it had failed. Human hearts weren't built for penetration. Tendrils of black worked their way from his toes to his eyes and his heart gave a last ditch attempt to continue beating before stopping completely.

" _CAS!"_

They had found him. Proving ever resourceful, the Winchesters had managed to track down an ex-angel homeless man living under a pseudonym in a strange woman's home. He slipped into sweet, black numbness. They were too late.

Except they weren't.

Castiel had opened his eyes and Dean was close, so close, their faces a mere foot from each other. So close he could smell the musk of the hunter under the thick layer of fear. So close the air hung heavy between them with mingled breath. So close he could count every freckle across Dean's face had he had the time. He thought his heart may stop again. It didn't, however, only because that was physically impossible. He was lost, drowning, sinking, in bright worried green ringed by white and black lashes. Humans had souls, and souls had emotions, and Castiel was gripped tight, enthralled in the Righteous Man.

The bunker was warm, the water pressure was perfect, the burritos were addictive, and the company was more than pleasant. Dean was all those things and more. He felt like he was home, like he could be home. He could make this home.

Home.

 _Please, man, I need you here…_

Dean had swaggered over to him, eyes full of dread, and he needed to talk. Castiel had brightened, he loved their talks, their time together. The Righteous Man had looked at him with pity, and told him to leave. Told him it couldn't be his home.

With no other options, he had left the man he loved behind, at his behest.


	4. Chapter 4

_And then, after a rousing speech, his true weakness is revealed. He's in love._

On borrowed grace from murdering his brothers and stealing their essence, Castiel had built an army. Sometimes his skin burned and sometimes white would flash so painfully in front of his eyes that he would be nearly incapacitated. The borrowed Grace within him, clawing at his organs and winding itself around his spinal cord, was burning him from the inside out, less like a bad fever and more like swallowing a cup of magma. He was dying, he knew that, and he accepted it, but he had to do one thing before he was pulled into nowhere, or wherever angels went when they died. He had to put heaven right again. He broke it, and he had to fix it.

He didn't see much of Dean throughout these few months, and what he did see of him was more than troubling. Dean had taken on the Mark. The dreadful curse that turned Cain to murder. The insatiable itch under his skin never being cleansed as he bathed in the blood of the innocent as well as the guilty.

Dean was headed down that road, and it was all Castiel could do to warn him.

 _With humanity._

Castiel had given his army up for Dean. Given everything that he had worked so hard to build. His army in exchange for the eldest Winchester's life. He couldn't be expected to kill the Righteous Man. That bright soul, blemished and marred with pain and the desire to kill. The only being he'd ever, truly, cared about.

 _Ah. So Gadreel bites the dust. And the Angel tablet - arguably the most powerful instrument in the history of the universe - is in pieces, and for what again?_

Metatron spoke, not noticing the hatred and anger that swirled, barely concealed beneath Castiel's skin. It took all of his willpower to not stand and strangle the useless waste of existence that was God's scribe.

 _Oh, that's right, to save Dean Winchester. That was your goal, right? I mean, you draped yourself in the flag of heaven, but ultimately, it was all about saving one human, right?_

Castiel would always save Dean. He knew that, and in that moment, Metatron knew. His enemy knew his one weakness, and if Castiel had had the sense to move, to leave, to search out the Winchesters in that moment, maybe he could've done something. But he sat there, shattered stone at his feet and glaring at the disgusting lout that had stolen his Grace and turned Heaven upside down.

 _Well, guess what. He's dead, too._

Castiel could feel his world fall apart. He could hear the blood rushing in his ears and from the moment that he looked at Metatron's smug face, he knew that it showed on his features. Dean was gone. Of course, Dean had been gone before, and it never lasted, but that didn't stop the irrational panic and hurt that flooded him.

And then Dean was a demon.

But it was after the righteous man was cleansed that everything really took a turn for the worst. That everything broke and slipped into the depths of the darkest days in Hell. He could've done more, he could've fixed it faster, but he didn't, he couldn't. It was only his fault that Dean went off the deep end. He hadn't been fast enough. He had been too caught up in fixing heaven when it had first begun and he'd had time.

 _Maybe you could fight the Mark for years. Maybe centuries, like Cain did. But you cannot fight it forever. And when you finally turn, and you will turn... Sam, and everyone you know, everyone you love... they could be long dead. Everyone except me. I'm the one who will have to watch you murder the world. So if there's even a small chance that we can save you, I won't let you walk out of this room._

He dropped his hand on the wrecked man's shoulder and pulled him back as he turned to walk away. He wouldn't let Dean leave, not when he could still be saved. Not when it was his fault. Not when he cared for Dean Winchester, loved him with the very core of his being.

 _Dean, I don't wanna have to hurt you._

 _I don't think that's gonna be a problem._

It was his fault that Dean turned, and he accepted the punishment.

His wrist was suddenly in Dean's iron grip, and was twisted. He heard a pop, felt a crunch, but it didn't matter. It didn't matter that between one blink and the next, Dean's fist connected with his jaw, rocking his head back.

 _Dean._

In an odd twist of disgusting irony, Castiel was on the receiving end of the fists, the hate, the anger. The Mark. He hadn't fought back, he had only tried to keep Dean from leaving, Dean couldn't leave. Dean had to be saved.

He was all that mattered.

Face bloodied and split, he'd been tossed to the floor, no better than garbage. Dean turned to leave and Castiel watched, managing to push himself up. His face was wet, swollen, throbbing, he could taste blood on his lips and his vision was unfocused. It didn't matter.

 _Dean, stop._

Dean had stopped. He'd stopped and wheeled around for a renewed assault. Worse than before, Castiel floundered and soon found himself on his back, staring up at Dean. Hard jade chips stared back as the man that wasn't the man he loved pulled out his angel blade and readied it. He had failed, he was going to die, just like that. His existence would be snuffed out by the blackened and twisted soul that had been so bright as he'd placed it back in his body. His last breath would be shared with the creature that shared a face with The Righteous Man.

Maybe he wouldn't have had it any other way.

Castiel coughed, thick red iron spurting over his lips as his hand made it's way to grab at Dean's wrist, the one holding his tie. He blinked and in one moment he wasn't looking at the thing The Mark had turned Dean into, but he was staring at the hunter, Dean Winchester. He was looking at the man he'd fought with, for, and about. The man he'd given everything for, and would give anything to, if only he'd ask. He was so hopelessly enamored with the man with the bright soul, he thought there was no other face he'd rather see right before he could no longer see anything.

 _Dean, please._

It was all he could muster. Whether he was begging for the sweet end of his constant torment, or his life to continue the torture, he wasn't sure. All he knew was that Dean was over him, around him, part of him, and he would never be able to get the scent of aftershave, whiskey, and car grease out of his memory. It had burned into him, and he was reminded every time Dean passed, but now it was thick and heavy with the iron tang of blood. It was Dean, but it wasn't. He had failed, once again, and he was losing Dean, as well as himself.

The blade arced through the air, glinting bright silver in the light as it dove down to lance through his heart. He was at war with himself, half of him screaming _Yes, yes, please God, just do it._ and the other half begging Dean just to kiss him first, just so he could know what it felt like to have the man he'd pined after love him too.

Neither of these things happened. Instead, with a dull thump that was mimicked by his unsteady heart, the tip of the blade made it's way into the book beside his head. He was still alive, he knew that by the breath in his lungs, but he was oh, so dead.

 _Next time, I won't miss._

But Dean hadn't missed. As Castiel watched his broad back disappear behind the wall, he felt worse than if he'd been run through, grace beaming through the room and black wings etching alongside his body. He had failed the only thing that mattered. That had ever mattered to him.

He had failed Dean.


End file.
